


One for the Team

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:44:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A high school AU I got a request for. This will be ongoing because I actually really like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy in Back

The kid sitting at the back of the classroom is staring at him again. Castiel peers over his shoulder as the douchey looking guy quickly averts his gaze to the clock for the fourth time this week. This is getting ridiculous; if the guy is planning his demise or some shit, the least he could do is acknowledge that he’s doing it.

Castiel sighs and returns his attention back to the board where his physics teacher is diagramming how to graph motion and acceleration. It’s all so mundane; he’s learned all of this shit years ago, he doesn’t get why he still has to stay in this crap Kansas town staring at walls. When the bell finally rings, he grabs his books and bolts out of the room like a bat out of hell.

It’s weird, how he’s garnered so much attention from this jock that could definitely be doing better things with his life. Daily, the kid has watched as he entered the classroom, has paid utmost attention on his presentations and sat with an expression of disinterest for anyone else’s, has turned his attention to something else whenever Castiel has caught him watching. He’s aware that it suggests that the guy has a crush or something on him, but he’s seen him with cheerleaders before; Castiel is the _furthest thing_ from his type.

Castiel nearly bumps into Meg thinking about the strange kid, and narrowly avoids getting punched in the shoulder when she notices it’s him.

“Hey, Cassie, how’s tricks?” She asks, eyeing him from under heavily coated lashes. Castiel looks down and meets her eyes. “Is Ken Doll still watchin’ you?” She continues, pulling a sucker from her mouth.

“Yeah, he’s been watching again.” Castiel replies, he loops her offered arm with his and they walk down the long, bleak hall. “He looked away again when I tried to confront him about it.”

Meg doesn’t say anything, she just grunts in response. They continue down the crowded hallway and out of the doors into the bright afternoon light in silence. Meg pulls him to a set of tables situated on the side of the school and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

“You want one?” She asks, holding it out for one. He takes it with a mumbled thanks and sticks the thing in his mouth. She offers him a light and he accepts, grateful for the acrid smoke that invades his mouth.

They sit in silence for a while, like they have been doing for the past four years, just smoking and staring at the clouds as they come and go. Meg’s hand eventually creeps up to his and he turns to stare at it in question.

“What?” Castiel asks. Meg has always liked to grapple at Castiel whenever things got pretty comfortable. He’s alerted her plenty of times that she’s not his type, which prompts her to ask ‘then what is’ for the nth time, to which he replies ‘men’.

“Maybe this kid likes you,” She says, not removing herself. He doesn’t really mind, actually. It’s nice to have a... friend who can sort of understand what’s going on in his head. “Y’know, like the hunky quarterback is actually somewhere in Narnia and he takes out his sexual frustrations by fantasizing about the pretty queer boy in his physics class.”

“That’s not... I don’t think that’s how he thinks, Meg. I’m like ninety percent sure he has a girlfriend and that he just wants to string me up like most of the goddamned school,” Castiel replies, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoky rings. “I’m not important to the social hierarchy here, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, but still. You are pretty easy on the eyes, Clarence.” Meg pushes herself off the wooden table and bounds to her feet in an almost feline grace. She turns on her heel and gives him a look. “I’ll try talkin’ to him for ya’,” She mutters before sprinting around the corner to the back doors of the school.

Dammit. Castiel hates getting beat up; not really the process so much, as he _can_ defend himself thank you very much, but the aftermath of it. He doesn’t like being talked about, despite the fact that it puts people off of him more than they already are. It’s the attention; the passed notes, the whispers, the rumours of him being a delinquent all comprise of the main reason he hates attending a small town high school.

He stubs out his cigarette on the old wood and shoves himself off of the table, breaking into a light jog after his friend. If she confronts the kid- Castiel briefly reminds himself that he should probably find out his name- he’d probably think that Castiel has a crush on him. Not that he minds, of course. He just doesn’t like the queerbating that follows him like gnats in the summer.

Castiel pushes open the doors and stomps down the hallway in the direction of the cafeteria, brushing his shirt down to clear it of any evidence of what he was doing and pulling a piece of gum out of his pocket to alleviate any suspicions the teachers may have. He walks into the gaping room that is the cafeteria and scans the crowd for Meg.

It doesn’t take long; he figures the guy would sit at the same table as all of the other letter jacket wielding assholes. Castiel makes to take a step in their direction when he sees that Meg is gesturing in his direction wildly, her tiny limbs jerking in what looks to be barely concealed rage. The asshole probably said something he shouldn’t have.

Castiel marches to the table and is awarded the eyes and silence of sixty percent of the football team. The guy who stares isn’t among them; he’s too busy staring down Meg with a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. Castiel steps over to the two of them, positioning himself protectively behind his friend.

“What are you doing?” He asks to neither of them or both of them. Their staring match breaks and they both glimpse to him, Meg with a frown, the guy with a deepening flush.

“This... slimy sack of dicks just told me that if he wanted to stare at drug using queers, he could find hotter ones than you,” Meg nearly growls, her small fists shaking with the effort of reeling herself in. Castiel puts a hand on her shoulder, hoping his touch will calm her as it usually does. He does notice the guy’s eyes following the motion, the dart of his tongue as it runs over his lower lip.

Castiel wants to punch those pretty lips raw and bloody. He _want_ to destroy the perfect slope of the guy’s nose. He wants this person to suffer for making Meg this mad; Meg, who is normally so stoned she isn’t even capable of anger.

“You said this to Meg?” Castiel asks, letting some of his anger color his voice. He knows he can be menacing if he wants to; it’s just achieving that perfect balance of calmness and unadulterated rage that is hard. He watches as the kid swallows some of his fear and turns his eyes on him.

“No, chuckles over there said that,” He mumbles, jerking a thumb to the dick sitting beside him. Castiel sidesteps Meg for a moment to reel up and punch the guy in the jaw, spitting his knuckles in the process but completely satisfied with the slight popping sound the contact creates. The kid stares up at him in shock before howling in pain like the coward he is. Castiel turns his attention back to the pretty boy that allegedly has a thing for him, now less angered at his presence.

“Do you agree with him?” Castiel asks, his voice more gentle now that he’s wiped the menacing glare off his face. The guy meets his eyes more openly now. Castiel will admit that they are a startlingly beautiful shade of green that he’s never seen on anyone else before. But, he doesn’t see what all the hype is; the kid is just a normal relatively handsome kid.

“I... no, I don’t,” He responds after a moment, his face turning scarlet. Some of his football ‘buddies’ sneer and chuckle, but Castiel silences them all with a look. He stares at the kid expectantly, categorizing his little hitches and reactions for some reason he doesn’t dare explore.

“What’s your name?” Castiel asks, well aware that he should know because being the quarterback at this school makes you something of a legend. There is another wave of muffled laughter and Castiel lets it slide. He just folds his arms over his chest and awaits the kids answer.

“It’s Dean. Dean Winchester.”


	2. His Personal Demon

“Winchester?” Castiel asks, puzzled by the spike of recognition at the kid’s name. He scrutinizes the guy, scanning his face for any further signs of concession. It’s weird; Castiel doesn’t socialize much, let alone with his own friends. Yeah, he has had classes with Winchester since they were probably little boys, but he’s always been relatively aloof. His attentiveness to one kid in particular is something of an anomaly.

“Yeah, Winchester,” Dean replies, finally meeting Castiel’s gaze. That beautiful green will probably disarm Castiel every time; he openly ogles Dean’s face for a moment before his thought processes decide to make an appearance again.

“Were we friends?” Castiel has never really paid attention to his friends, even close ones. Meg has learned to deal with it by forcing herself upon him like a gnat. A very distinguished gnat.

“Um, yes.” Castiel pulls at his collar, his attention peaking somewhat rapidly. He was friends with Dean Winchester?

Dean’s friends are glaring daggers at Castiel and Meg. Well, no, not glaring so much as eyeing them as though they’re a pair of lepers. It’s disgruntling to say the least; so, Castiel bends down to Dean’s level, earning himself a few shocked hisses from his entourage. Dean turns a little red, but he doesn’t look to shaken.

“I, um, would you like to meet after classes or something?” Castiel asks, realizing that he’s being sort of presumptuous. “Er, what I mean is that I don’t know you and if you know me, and don’t hate me, then I suppose we should get acquainted.”

Castiel pulls his face away from Dean’s and gives him a small smile, trying his best to look not-menacing. Dean’s eyes follow his movement, his tongue peeping out to wet his lips again. Castiel swallows as Dean nods at him.

“By the benches at three,” Castiel mumbles. He gives Dean a parting wink, blows kisses at the idiots surrounding him, and loops his arm with Meg’s to walk out of the cafeteria.

As soon as they’re well out of the ears of anyone paying too much attention, Meg drags him into a room and pins him to the wall. Her tiny frame both menacing and completely comically with the way she carries herself. Castiel is caught between snorting and trembling.

“I think I was right about Winchester,” Meg says, her eyebrows knitting together much like an accordion folds. She pulls away after a moment, freeing Castiel from the tight enclosure, and seats herself into a desk. “He looks at you like a fatty looks at a big mac.”

“He does not, you idiot.” Castiel walks over to the desk adjacent Meg’s and flops into the chair. Dean was looking at him like any well behaved person would look at a perfect stranger. Well, Castiel supposes that they are not perfect strangers if Dean knows him. “He’s just... mildly interested in a familiar face.”

Meg turns toward him and gives him one of her _looks_ ; her eyebrow is raised and her mouth is set in a sarcastic smirk. Castiel backs off slightly, aware that this face usually precedes a tirade of questions and assumptions Castiel doesn’t want to address.

“If I were that... mildly interested in a familiar face, I would have jumped you ages ago,” Meg mutters, splaying her fingers over the edges of the desk. “If I _were_ even remotely that interested in you, you’d be gettin’ your cock sucked by an ingenious hottie.”

Meg flips her hair over her shoulder and sets her shoulders in an assured way. She glances at Castiel out of the corner of her eye; she does make a good case. Meg used to have a crush on him, granted it went to hell when she found out he was gay, but she was never so interested as to subtly watch him during their classes. What Dean was doing was, at the very least, mildly disconcerting.

“Hypothetically, obviously, let’s say Dean was interested. Even if he were so interested as to blatantly ogle me in class, he’s too careful of his reputation. He’s the _quarterback,_ Meg. I don’t think he’d let what he built up over the past two years collapse just because a perfect stranger might seem somewhat appealing.” Castiel pulls at his hair uncomfortably. He never liked crossing this bridge of conversation with Meg seriously; he more appreciated belittling people for their own favoritism in the field of romance.

Which makes him all the more comfortable when Meg asks, “So are you interested in him, then?”

Castiel can feel his mouth pop open before he has time to stop it. When he realizes he’s gaping at her open-mouthed like a dead fish, he quickly snaps it shut and folds his arms over his chest defensively.

“Why would I be? He’s just a good-looking jock, like the rest of them. And what makes you think I would? I have _never_ liked anyone that lives in this ridiculous town; I only fuck if they’re hot. Granted he is hot, but he’s... not my type.” Castiel stops talking when he realizes the lie is extremely evident in his own ears.

Meg simply drags her hands from the desk and rests them in her lap. Damn, she saw it too. Castiel fidgets in his seat as Meg stares daggers at him, unable to keep the blatant suspicion of her face. He squirms some more and goes defensive.

“Er... what I mean is that, uh, I’m not interested in him... mentally. If he were to proposition me with... sex or something, I wouldn’t necessarily refuse.” God, Castiel is floundering for words like some seventh grader who’s hot for teacher. He shuts his mouth when it becomes apparent that what he’s saying is doing more good than harm to his claim of not being interested.

“Uh huh, hon. You keep tellin’ yourself that,” Meg mutters, speaking towards the floor. “If you like the boy who pays attention, I don’t know why you couldn’t like the girl.”

Meg’s pining again. And it’s fine, really, but what bugs Castiel about it is that she doesn’t seem to grasp the concept of preferring men over women. It would be nice if she could realize this; however, Castiel doesn’t see this happening soon. So, instead of answering her unappealing questions, he favors the option of shutting up.

“I don’t like him because he paid attention. He’s just... less arrogant, I suppose.” Castiel runs a hand through the hair at the crown of his head, chasing away unwelcome fantasies and thoughts of things that could never be.

“‘Less arrogant’? Cas, the guy’s the spitting image of ‘I like pussy’. If you think he’s, dare I say, _nice_ , you’d probably be dead wrong.” Meg walks to the end of the room towards the dusty chalkboard and picks up one of the orange pastel chalks lying on the metallic rack.

“And besides, you never said you wanted to... see anyone. It’s always been hard and fast for you,” Meg grunts as she draws and draws.

“I never said I wanted to see him. I would like his side of the story though,” Castiel retorts, pushing himself out of his desk and walking so he stands beside his friend. “I just... I just would like it if I could do something once without being criticized out of doing it.”

Meg grimaces at the board, probably unhappy that Castiel made the assertion that he would like to be considered mature enough to make his own decisions. And he is. Meg has hovered around his dating life, hell his social life, or the majority of high school, always demeaning those she doesn’t approve of and shoving him towards those who are less than desirable in Castiel’s eyes. Specifically, Crowley is someone Castiel could go his whole life without seeing again.

“Look, hon-” Meg begins, but Castiel quickly shuts her up.

“Don’t ‘look hon’ me. I’m just going to talk to him. I’m not going to let myself get bent over and thoroughly fucked, if that’s how you think this is going to go. I _do_ have some standards.” Castiel turns away from Meg, not wanting to be pinned by her glare or her pitiful big brown eyes. He folds his arms over his chest and opts for leaving the room; no companion at all is better than a grumpy one.

“Cas!” Meg yells from behind him. Castiel just ignores her; he doesn’t want to say something that he may regret because he’s pissed off. He beelines it to the large wooden door in the back right of the classroom and rams into it, probably getting a major bruise on his hip but not caring because he needs to get away from Meg.

Castiel stomps down the hallway, taking long strides so Meg has no chance to catch up to him on her stubby legs. He rounds a corner, seething and likely red faced, and bumps into someone.

“Jesus fucking... I’m sorry,” Castiel growls as he bends over to pick up the books that are now on the floor. There is some rustling and a pale hand knocks his own hand away.

Castiel looks up to see an extremely small boy; it’s hard to believe he’s even in high school. The kid has light brown hair sweeping into his eyes with his movements. He appears to be going through a growth phase; his gangly limbs are discordant with the rest of his body, almost like he’s a puppet on a string. The boy stares with extreme concentration at his books as he collects them and leans onto his heels.

“No, I’m sorry,” The kid mumbles, keeping his eyes away from Castiel’s face. “I should’ve seen you.”

Castiel shrugs and stands, holding out a hand for the kid to take. He shifts his eyes from the ground to Castiel’s offering and just stares. So, Castiel sighs and reaches down to heave him up. The boy still looks confused when he’s fully upright and finally allows his eyes to meet Castiel’s. They’re big, hazel, and, though Castiel hates using this as a descriptor, adorable. The kid doesn’t look a day over twelve.

“Oh!” The kid chirps, his eyes scanning Castiel’s face. Oh?

“What?” Castiel asks, confused at whatever is happening.

“You’re Castiel, right?” Twelve-year-old asks, eyes boring holes into Castiel. He steps away and smiles at Castiel warmly, crinkling the corners of his eyes slightly with the magnitude of it.

“Right...”

“Do you know Dean Winchester?” He questions, eyes shining. Dean Winchester, why should this kid know about that? Castiel supposes that news spreads fast in this town; if the quarterback is seen talking to the ‘resident queer’ it’s going to be big. So, he sighs in resignation and answers, “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m Sam Winchester- Dean’s brother.” Sam decides to hold out his hand this time, smiling as Castiel stares at it, thoroughly puzzled. After a moment, he takes it, surprised by the strong grasp of the younger Winchester.

“Cas Novak,” Castiel replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really divide my updating dates; everything is between Thursday and Saturday and it's a mad scramble. Anyways, I hope you liked it! Chapter 2.5 will be up within the next twenty-four hours.


	3. Come On In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Sam get to know each other. Sam, in the heat of the moment, invites Castiel to the Winchester home and refuses to accept any answer that isn't in the affirmative. Dean and Castiel spend some time together, and in turn, warm up to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about how late this is, but I had four articles due last week for my school's paper, and I got a commission for a short story *squeals excitedly* That being said, updates will resume as usual throughout the majority of November, though I am doing NaNoWriMo, so I'll probably post more original stories as well.

Of course Castiel bumped into the _fucking younger brother_ of the guy who has the hots for him. Well, not necessarily, but the way the kid talks about Dean really emphasizes that hypothesis. Of course the kid is also a god damned genius who insists Castiel come over for dinner because, by the way Dean talks about him, Castiel seems like a fucking genius too.

“Hey, if you’d like, you should come over tonight,” Sam says, his eyes shining despite the ugly hue the fluorescents cast. “Whenever you used to come over we’d always play Pokémon cards or some other shit Dean hated.”

Castiel’s face has been frozen in a sort of half smile half grimace expression as the kid raves about how damn _fascinating_ everything is. Geez, Sam’s more curious and interested in the world than the majority of high school students Castiel has ever met. So when he asks to come over, Castiel kind of just sits there staring.

“Wouldn’t that be... awkward?” Castiel asks, hoping to divert the kid off any path that could lead somewhere dangerous. Obviously, his attempt doesn’t work because Sam waves an arm flippantly, as though to dismiss all of Castiel’s worries in a simple movement.

“Who cares about awkward?” Sam asks, his eyes squinting at his perceived ridiculousness of the question. He tightens his hold on his books and neglects any answer that Castiel might have had when he continues, “C’mon, Dean’d love to have you.”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably on each of his feet, transferring his weight in an anxious dance of freaking the fuck out. He shouldn’t be, and he knows it, yet he can’t keep the invasive feeling from leaking unchecked through his pores, into his every movement. He wrings out his hands as he eyes up the scrawny, brash kid, considering his options.

“Fine,” Castiel mutters. Before Sam can start jumping up and down (as he appears to be about to) Castiel interjects. “But we’re talking to your brother first. I don’t need any of that five mile stare bullshit.”

Sam just nods, seemingly uncaring about any of Castiel’s qualms. He looks like he’s about to rocket off to the moon, by the way he’s bouncing around like that. After a moment of evasive eye contact and awkward silence, Sam’s tiny hand wraps around Castiel’s and he tugs him into a light jog down the mostly empty corridor, beelining down and rounding corner that leads to the science classrooms.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks, trying to ascertain his bearings before proceeded to follow some mostly-stranger kid. Sam nods his head towards the central room: physics. When he said they should talk to Dean, he hadn’t meant _now_. He braces his feet against the squeaky linoleum tile and tugs himself free out of Sam’s grasp.

Sam’s large hazel eyes focus onto Castiel’s face with feigned innocence at his stopping. “Aren’t you going to go in?” Sam asks, all doe-eyed and pouty lipped. He couldn’t say no to Sam if he’d asked him to commit high treason wearing such an expression, however falsified.

“Yeah, I’m going to go in,” Castiel begrudgingly replies. “But I still think this is a shit idea.” He keeps himself retracted from Sam’s hands, but follows him as he tentatively pushes open the door into the mostly empty classroom.

The room is covered in Newton’s pendulum simulators; they litter the floor in a discordant pattern of red strings and awkward metallic stands. Sam ignores the precision of each little station, plundering through the jungle like mess to a table nested in the center of the room. He flops into the chair poised behind it and settles his feet atop the table.

“Dean should be back soon; he always gives me summarized notes after lunch.” Sam grins at Castiel, his formerly innocent face acquiring an almost mischievous glint. Proceeding as cautiously as possible, because he _knows_ that look from Meg, Castiel seats himself beside Sam in the chair adjacent, shuffling some of Dean’s possessions to the side of the desk to make room for himself.

They wait in silence for what feels like hours. In all honesty, it was probably all of five minutes they’ve waited until Dean showed up, posse in tow. Still, though, Sam’s a… strange person. He tried to pull Castiel into conversation about Latin scripture and it’s pertinence to exorcisms; Castiel hadn’t been able to contribute much on that front, aside from his modest memories from Latin class. But Sam is some other level of genius. He’s insane.

So, Castiel opts to shut up and listen, much like he does with the few friends he has. He watches as Sam gets invested into their, his, discussion. His hands draw patterns in the air as he delves into why old interpretations of certain biblical texts would serve more suffice in any historical exploration of religion. 

Soon enough, the door creaks open and Dean leads a group of three of his lackeys into the room. Castiel’s head perks up at the sound of a potential escape from a strange lecture from a fucking _kid_. Dean meets his eyes and a soft pinkish hue colors the normally freckled skin of his cheeks.

“Dean,” Sam says, finally pulling off of his exorcism tangent. “Can we bring Cas over after school?”

“Uh, Sammy…”

“C’mon, you like him; I like him; and he doesn’t have any objections.”

Dean’s eyes take on a shifty quality, moving from left to right in accordance with his friends’ positions relative to him. Two of them appear to be distracted by something on one of their phones, whispering and giggling as they observe it. The other has his hands behind his back, merely observing the happenings around the room with a keen passivity.

Castiel focuses his attention back onto the guy who will determine whether or not he will spend the evening in gelatinous form on someone else’s floor. He really would prefer to just go home and sleep; actually, he’d prefer _anything_ to having to face this handsome freckled guy and his ‘curiosity’.  Dean, however, doesn’t seem to notice Castiel’s discomfort with the situation.

“Fine, but I have to stop at Singer’s place to pick up some parts for Dad.”

Castiel grimaces at the table, unable to prevent his displeasure at the situation from leaking to the surface. He’s never really had someone that was interested in him, outside of Meg and his miniscule collection of acquaintances. There is no familiarity with Dean, only strange speculation and a curious return of interest on his part.

“I, uh, don’t want to interrupt anything you might have going on,” Castiel tries when it becomes apparent that Dean’s serious.

Sam just shakes his head and murmurs denials about how their parents, if they’re home, would be thrilled to see him. Dean only tells him that no one will care regardless of whether or not he goes over. So Castiel shrugs shoulders and resigns, too tired of the argument to actually sustain it.

He shoves away from the table and loops his arm through a strap of his backpack. He does nod at the younger Winchester, but only allows a passing glance at Dean. Castiel is just pushing through the door when he hears an instruction from somewhere behind him.

“Meet us by the bleachers.”

* * *

* * *

And so he does.

Castiel juggles his artwork and his textbooks as he walks out to meet the Winchesters. He can spot Dean clear as day; he’s stupidly handsome as he reclines against a post, adorned in a form fitting leather jacket, his hair gelled into a nice swoop that’s attractive even at this distance. Sam, however, is nowhere to be seen.

He walks to where Dean is poised. As carefully as he can manage, Castiel settles his things onto the ground and awaits any inclination that his companion has noticed his appearance. When it’s obvious he didn’t, Castiel turns to him.

“Where’s Sam?”

Dean’s shoulders tense up and he glances at Dean through narrowed eyes. After a split second, his entire persona relaxes and he breathes a sigh. “He’s stayin’ after for debate. If you don’t want to come over, I can just give you a ride home,” Dean murmurs, his eyes directed straight to the ground.

There is something hidden in his tone, behind the feigned passivity of his words. Castiel peeks at the guy and sees that same light pink hue adorning his cheeks. He stuffs his phone into his front pocket and keeps his eyes purposefully evaded from Castiel’s.

If Castiel didn’t know better, and he totally does, he’d say that the gesture was almost adorable. He’s never seen a jock behave in such a boyish, innocent way. As a matter of fact, he’s observed the opposite in Dean himself on more than one occasion; the many people, men and women alike, who’d flung themselves around him in an odd human covering, serve as enough proof that Dean got around.

Despite this foreknowledge, however, Castiel does believe he at least deserves the benefit of the doubt; the doubt being his not being a dick. As gently as he can manage, Castiel reaches out hand and taps Dean on the elbow, hoping it will be enough impetus for him to meet his eyes.

“I didn’t say yes just because Sam was pestering me.”

“Then… you really don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

And he’s being pinned where he stands by a pair of lonely forest-colored eyes, smiling at him through a haze of nervousness and apprehension. Castiel can count the freckles from this distance- not that he tries, of course. When they flutter to some unseen point in the distance, Castiel feels himself take in a deep gust of air; he must have stopped breathing briefly.

“Let’s get going,” Dean says as he reaches under Castiel’s hands and grabs his textbooks.

For a moment, Castiel stares. He doesn’t do much else, as he is captive by the easy smile laid across Dean’s slightly upturned lips, the relaxed manner with which he’s carrying himself now that he’s let himself calm. He pulls himself from his stupor with a grin, falling into step beside Dean and, for once, actually feeling a semblance of genuine curiosity.

* * *

* * *

“This is _your_ car?!” Castiel breathes as he takes in the sight of the masterpiece Dean Winchester calls a means of transportation.

“Not yet, but I get it after graduation.”

Castiel can just bask in the beauty of the thing. The Impala is a classic-Dean had mentioned that it was a first edition ’67 model. It was coated in a sleek sheen of deep black paint, making it appear almost grandiose in all of its elegance. The wheels have chrome inlays, and it’s obvious that Dean takes care to polish them at least once a week.

“It’s really pretty, Dean.”

“Geez, Cas. No one’s ever called my car pretty.” Dean pantomimes fawning; he bats his lashes at Castiel and fans himself mockingly.

“Shut it, Winchester. It’s pretty and you know it.”

Dean only chuckles in response and taps Castiel’s shoulder with his fist. He pulls open the passenger door and shifts some things into the backseat, haphazardly scattering various papers and probably homework. Then he tosses Castiel’s books into the mix and pulls out.

“Do you need to bring that home or are you good leaving it in here for a while?” Dean points at the half-finished paintings in his arms.

Castiel shakes his head that he doesn’t need to bring them home and Dean plucks them out of his hands, carefully settling them atop the mess behind the driver’s seat. When he’s satisfied by the arrangement, he holds the door open for Castiel and waits until he climbs in to slam the door shut and walk around the hood to the driver’s seat, much to Castiel’s surprise. He should really stop listening to Meg’s idle gossip about people she feels she can’t identify with.

Dean twists the keys in the ignition and the Impala roars to life, her engine making just as much noise as Castiel had expected. He must’ve been making some sort of awed expression as Dean glances over and chuckles, this time a more genuine, from the gut sound.

“I take it back. This car isn’t pretty, it’s badass.”

“I fuckin’ told you, dude.”

Dean pulls out of the school lot and turns on to the main road in town, heading east. After he passes the first light, his hand wisps its way over to the stereo and taps on an outdated ‘play’ button. Zeppelin blares from the speakers and Castiel can’t catch his bearings quick enough to adjust to the loudness immediately.

Tentatively, he reaches over to lower the volume minutely, but Dean’s hand catches his as it settles on the knob.

“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole,” Dean mutters, smiling as he peeks in his direction. Castiel can’t help but feel a tiny stirring of mild irritation deep within himself, but he lets it slide due to more pressing matters on his mind.

Such as the fact that Dean still hasn’t let go of his hand.

The rest of the way to the Winchester household isn’t long, nor is it particularly busy. Dean’s fingers tap to the rhythm of the music; if Castiel listens closely, he can hear Dean humming to the soft tenor of Robert Plant and it’s a nice, grounding sound.

The whole ride is nice, actually.

When Dean finally turns off onto a cobblestone driveway, Castiel extrapolates himself from Dean’s grasp and busies himself with gathering his things. Finding that all of his textbooks are well buried beneath about three layers of random crap, he gives up on that prospect almost immediately and climbs out of the Impala with only his messenger bag.

Dean leads the way into the Winchester household, fishing his keys out of his pocket as he approaches the door. Castiel’s foot taps as he jerks the key around; Dean’s hands have a slight tremor in them, whether it’s caused by nervousness Castiel is unsure of.

When Dean finally unlocks the door, he steps into a lavish, wooden foyer and holds the door agape for Castiel. With a smile, those bright green eyes focus back onto his own, and Castiel swears he quakes in his ratty chucks.

“Come on in, Cas.”


End file.
